This Was His Day
by OutCold
Summary: Tiva fluff/angst. Is that possible? Tony's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY! Warning: Some mentions of child abuse.


_Disclaimer: Not mine. Ugh, I wish this story wasn't even mine, but it is._

_A/N: **HAPPY BIRTHDAY EMILY!!!!!** This story is a birthday present or Tiva4evaxxx, read and review her stories, you'll love them._

* * *

Tony sauntered into the bullpen, late as usual. However, instead of being greeted by a stern and disapproving Gibbs, Abby came bounding up to him.

"Happy Birthday!" she said excitedly, waving a bunch of black flowers and a present shaped suspiciously like a DVD in front of him.

Tony groaned inwardly, but said,

"Thanks, Abs," and grinned, taking his gift.

He unwrapped it, doing a good job of looking eager.

"Titanic."

"Yup! I know you lost your copy last year, and I couldn't think of a movie you didn't have that you would like, so . . ."

"_You_ lost my copy last year, Abby."

Abby brushed it off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"What do you think the flowers are for? And we're all meeting for a drink after work._ Even Gibbs._"

She said the last sentence while staring pointedly at the older man, who sat obediently at his desk, trying with concealed difficulty to stick to his promise to allow Abby to welcome Tony. She strode off, allowing no room for disagreement.

"Thanks!" Tony yelled after her.

He'd never had the heart to tell her he hated his birthday.

"Happy Birthday, Tony," said McGee briefly.

Ziva smiled, and for a second he forgot it was _that_ day.

"Abby has instructed us to give you your presents later."

"Are you going to get to work, DiNozzo?" asked Gibbs.

But he was smiling. Sort of.

----

_It was Anthony DiNozzo's eighth birthday. His mother had promised to take him shopping, as he had firmly insisted that he was old enough to choose (the majority) of his own presents. He bought some computer games, but not too many, because he didn't want to look like a geek, a basketball and some new clothes and shoes. He was conscious of his mother silently disapproving of some items, but she didn't say anything, and he didn't care. This was his day._

----

Tony spent the day privately attempting to track down whoever had leaked to the whole building that it was his birthday. He suspected it was Abby, and couldn't be angry at her, after all, he had spent years giving her every reason to believe that he loved his birthday, smiling, laughing, accepting gifts happily and cheerily responding to 'Happy Birthdays' in a typical DiNozzo style. Still, having to grin every time those infernal words passed the lips of someone in his immediate vicinity, he lost a little more of that special self-control that he always saved for this day. He realised that McGee was talking.

" . . . not our usual place. Abby says we have to try this bar."

He was jolted into reality.

"One of Abby's bars?!"

"No," cut in Ziva. "I have been a few times with Abby. It is a nice place. Although – a friendly warning, Abby says we have to 'dress up' so expect trickery."

"It's not a 'dress up' place?"

"It does not have to be unless Abby is planning something, But she has not let any of us in on it."

"Typical," Tony sighed, but was quick to grin again. "I'll bring a change of clothes. Just in case. You never know with Abby."

----

_The car pulled out of the multi-storey car park, turning the heads of pedestrians with its understated classiness. Tony cranked up the music, and saw his mum turn as if to glare at him, but think better of it. She reached for the volume with a small smile, and the two began to wrestle for control, causing the noise levels to fluctuate wildly. It was just when she turned to make some comment that the car pulled out. Tony had no memory of the crash, but he remembered being dazed and disorientated, attempting to pull his mother from the wreckage. When there was no sign of life, he knew. He knew in an undeniable moment of clarity, and he collapsed into a heap, overwhelmed by the pure knowledge that she was dead. And it was because he'd been messing with volume. Tony would always blame himself. And so would his father._

_----_

Ziva watched Tony with quiet concern. His face fell a little at every birthday greeting, or every time Gibbs sarcastically called him 'the birthday boy'. Sometimes she felt like screaming at how unobservant everyone was being. They were meant to be good at reading people! Especially Gibbs, who knew Tony better than anyone. Why couldn't he see what she found so blindingly obvious?! Abby, prancing around in her joy at a celebration, making them all smile . . . but not Tony, not properly. McGee had commented to her at one point that Tony would probably use his birthday as a chance to be annoying, and hadn't seemed to notice when he barely mentioned it at all. She saw as Tony got more and more stressed toward the end of the day, and suspected it was something to do with Abby's plans. Eventually he burst, and left with a gruff Gibbs-like,

"I'm going for coffee."

----

_Tony had never been so tired. He'd told the story a thousand times (was it right for them to make a kid re-live that so much?) and unlike the policemen, his father, etc., was not allowed coffee to keep him up through the experience. He had held back tears for as long as he could, he'd really tried. But, sagging from exhaustion as he plodded up the drive with his father, a steady stream began to flow silently on and on. He had turned his head, but his father saw. Once inside the house, he dragged his son into the study, away from servant's prying eyes. _

"_What right do you have to be upset?! It wouldn't have happened if not for you."_

_Although the first sentence was spat with venom, the second was cold and calculated. Predictably, Tony winced. Then softly, dangerously,_

"_See? You can't even deny it . . ."_

"_I didn't know . . ." his voice was weak and broken._

_It was the wrong answer. Any answer would have been the wrong answer. The sensation of being knocked back came before the pain, but only by about a second. Then, the whole left of his face felt like it had been set on fire. He bit his lip – he knew instinctively not to make a sound. The pain dulled to a throbbing ache. Then again, and again, and again . . . He didn't remember going to bed, but he woke up with the realisation that his father's wife had just died, and he should try to be sympathetic. But then it was his mother's birthday, his parent's anniversary. Then it was whenever he didn't do something right. Four years later, when he was twelve, he wasn't sure what was worse – that his father beat him every day, or that he really didn't seem to care anymore. But it was always the worst on his birthday._

_----_

Two minutes passed. Ziva started to tap her foot. Three minutes, she began to fiddle with her pen. Four minutes, she scratched her desk. Five minutes,

"Goddamnit, go, Ziva!" Gibbs finally burst.

She grabbed her jacket.

"Thank you, Gibbs. He just seemed a little strange and – "

"I know, and, Ziva," she turned around, "I'll smooth it over with Abby."

He shot her a knowing look. She was confused, and mentally filed it away to deal with later as she hurried off the base. After walking to the nearest coffee shop and back, she began to worry. She nipped back to pick up her car, and started driving anywhere Tony might be. After half an hour, she got an idea that made her want to bang her head against the steering wheel.

----

_Tony had just returned, and was marvelling in the glory of being back on land – movies, girls (no, he'd had girls – just now he had lots of girls, who might possibly sleep with him), and long hot showers. Then it had gotten to the first anniversary of Jenny's death. Everyone felt as though they were walking on eggshells, especially around Tony and Gibbs. Her guess – the tension had gotten too much. At any rate, Tony left somewhat abruptly. Curious and concerned, she followed. She memorised the code that he punched into the door, and watched as he stepped out into the rain on the roof of NCIS. Even more worried, she followed suit shortly. Tony was lying on his back as the rain beat down, jacket discarded. She was unsure of how to go on, but eventually lay by his side._

"_You're getting soaked," he pointed out helpfully._

"_So are you," she retorted._

"_I chose to come out here."_

"_And what," she snorted, "I was dragged in handcuffs?"_

"_Emotional handcuffs," he joked, with a pathetic attempt at his trademark grin._

"_Yes, Tony, of course," she laughed sarcastically._

_They lay in silence for about ten minutes, slowly growing colder._

"_They never change the code to this place. Jenny told me it. She really trusted me, you know? Really thought I was good at this. Look how I let her down."_

"_You did not let Jenny down, Tony. And you are good at this. You're better than McGee, and you're better than me, and Gibbs knows it. We all do. You're the only one who doubts yourself."_

_Tony seemed shocked. Ziva definitely was._

"_Don't get me wrong – I could still kill you within a five second time frame with my bare hands."_

"_Point taken," a few seconds passed. "We're going to get pneumonia out here, and if we do, I'll tell you about Bernie Mac. He got pneumonia . . ."_

"_So did Kipling's daughter."_

"_Who?"_

_----_

She didn't stop at the bullpen to explain, but took the elevator straight up to the top level and ran to the door, punching the code, hoping Tony had been right, and that it never changed. She couldn't think of anywhere else for him to be. When she opened it, she saw Tony in an identical position to how he had been that day, except now in glorious sunshine. She collapsed next to him.

"Getting coffee?"

"I was just practising my Gibbs impression."

"You're getting good. You need to be more indifferent, though."

"I'll work on it," there was a short pause. "Ziva – what is it? Don't beat around the bush."

"Why would I beat around a bush?"

"It's – never mind. Get to the point."

"Why don't you like your birthday, Tony?"

He decided to throw her a bone.

"My mother died on my eighth birthday."

"Oh."

A look of relief flashed over his features. She saw it.

"There is more."

He finally sat up, as she was already doing, and looked straight at her. The sunlight lit up her face, and all thoughts of this awkward conversation left him for a moment as he saw how radiant she looked. She was listening. Really listening. And she cared. And he told her. Slowly, painfully. He didn't cry – he'd given up on crying about this. The expression in her eyes was as though she was the one who had been abused, and she leant her head on his shoulder.

"Can I kill him?"

"Ha! Not worth your time, Ziva."

"Hmm."

He looked so hurt, and Ziva would have done anything to make that look go away. What she did do she wouldn't have if she'd thought about it, but she hadn't, so she'd rocked forward and gently pushed her lips to his. It lasted just too long to be platonic, and she was too surprised to register what she was doing as she pulled reluctantly away. She opened her mouth to speak, but he pulled her forward and sealed her lips in a far more passionate embrace. She felt like fireworks were exploding somewhere close, although if they really had been, she probably wouldn't have noticed. In a break for oxygen, Tony panted,

"Shit, Gibbs."

"_I'll smooth it over with Abby."_

Suddenly the meaning of that sentence struck her. Gibbs didn't expect them tonight.

"He's all right with it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"In that case . . . I have a new copy of Titanic. How do you feel about skipping drinks?"

She looked as though she were struggling to decide, then eyed Tony slowly.

"Depends . . . how do you feel about skipping the movie?"

* * *

_If I'm going to be forced to write Tiva, you may as well review to make me feel better._

_(Just joking, Emily - happy to do it for you)_


End file.
